Invidia
by anneka59
Summary: Vilkas has always had trouble denying his primal urges. After a prolonged absence of the Dragonborn, jealousy gets the best of him. A fill for the skyrimkinkmeme, so expect the worst (or the best, depending on what you like). M rating for sexy times and a little language. NSFW!


Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim, Bethesda does. Those guys are awesome.

A/N: Wrote this for the kmeme and figured I would post it here, because why not? Just your typical PWP with a little jealousy thrown in, featuring my favorite werewolf twin. Enjoy! NSFW

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Invidia

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"This is taking too long," she complained to Farkas one day.

"What is?" he asked back, not even breathing hard, the _bastard_. Merrill took another swing at the Nord, dismayed when he easily batted her blade away.

"_This,_" she panted, wiggling her sword and sweeping her other arm out to give him a better idea. He looked at her, puzzled; it shouldn't have surprised her. "Training. I don't have the time for it; I need to be a better warrior _now_."

He grunted a laugh, then took a couple steps toward her and brought his axe down against her raised shield. By the nine, that _hurt_, at least the parts she could feel; she was numb from her fingers up to her elbow.

Disgusted, Merrill dropped her shield, trying to shake some sensation back into her hand. Farkas chuckled again and lowered his axe, watching with amusement as she threw her own weapon next to the shield and gingerly pulled her gauntlet off. She gave him a glare for good measure, which only made him smile wider.

"Can't say I know a better way, new blood. You are learning pretty slow, though."

"Fuck you," she muttered, then, louder, "I'm an _elf_, we're not exactly known for our brawny physiques. It's not my fault you Nords grow muscle twice as fast as the rest of Tamriel."

"If you think I'm handsome, you can just tell me, Merrill." Farkas' smile was getting infectious, his good mood helping to ease her exasperation. She ducked her head to hide a grin at his joke. "I might have an idea, though."

This caught her attention, the rarity of Farkas using his brain notwithstanding; she would do _anything_ to get stronger quicker, to be able to spar with one of the Companions without getting bruises that lasted for weeks on end. Merrill raised her head to find her Shield Brother looking almost contemplative; for a second she could believe it was his twin standing in front of her.

_Oh wait,_ she thought, _Vilkas hates me, and would rather pull out his teeth than help me. How could I forget?_

"Alright, what's this brilliant plan of yours?"

"You ever heard of the Guardian Stones?"

"Umm… I feel like I should know what those are…."

Farkas laughed again and started toward Jorrvaskr, motioning for her to follow him. She quickly grabbed her things and scrambled to catch up, taking three steps for every one of his.

"There are several standing across Skyrim. If you find one, you can offer a prayer and it will grant you aid. Different stones give different help, depending on what constellation they represent."

They were standing in the mead hall now, and Merrill gave a quick glance around the room, relieved to find that Vilkas wasn't present. The man was more trouble than she wanted to deal with right now, and he always seemed to seek her out just to pick a fight. One she could never win. She set her stuff on a chair and reached for a sweetroll, shoving the whole thing into her mouth and swallowing.

"That all sounds very interesting, Farkas, but when do we start talking about how it will make me a better fighter?"

"I'm getting there, whelp, don't get your panties in a bunch." Merrill didn't rise to the bait, just crossed her arms and stared at him. He paused a few seconds, as if to make sure she didn't want to start a wrestling match. "The warrior stone," he said finally, "it helps you, y'know, become a better warrior. I know where it is; we could travel there together and offer a prayer."

She beamed at him, hopeful for the first time in weeks. "That's brilliant! When can we leave?"

"Uh, well – "

"Tonight would be _perfect_, I'll go pack some things. Thanks, Farkas!" She threw her arms around the fighter and squeezed for all she was worth, hearing him mutter something about an uppity whelp, but he hugged her back so she figured he was game. Ducking out of the embrace, Merrill scooped her sword and shield back up and rushed toward the dorms, snatching up a wedge of cheese on her way.

They set out not two hours later, Merrill chattering and animated, Farkas looking amused. Vilkas watched them leave, and was discontent.

* * *

The girl had been gone for over a week, and Vilkas was ready to put a hole in the wall of Jorrvaskr with his bare fist. That annoying elf with her glossy hair and dark eyes had occupied too many of his thoughts, he _needed_ to find a distraction. It was bad enough when she was flitting around Jorrvaskr, all slender curves and smelling of pine, and cozying up with everyone but him. He hadn't been able to stop himself from goading her, just to see a blush rise in her cheeks or get her pretty lips to fall open in outrage.

Vilkas couldn't say whether he liked the Bosmer or not, but by the gods he _wanted_ her. Then she had disappeared – with his brother, no less – and he'd slowly driven himself insane over the past few days thinking of the two of them together.

He slammed his hand on the table in frustration, then surged to his feet, deciding to go hunt something, _anything_, instead of sulking around Whiterun. He was reaching to push the door when it swung open toward him instead, revealing the object of his obsession. She was laughing over her shoulder to someone behind her, her whole body relaxed and open, and not looking where she was going.

Merrill walked straight into Vilkas, her breath leaving her with a little _oof_, and before he knew it his hands were wrapped around her arms, squeezing with entirely too much force.

"V-Vilkas," she gasped, and the fear in her voice tugged on something dark inside him. He _liked_ hearing her say his name like that. He glared at her, silent, unwilling to let her go now that he'd caught her. There was that blush, crawling up her neck and staining her cheeks; Vilkas fought the urge to smile.

"Brother?" Farkas sounded confused and a little wary, hovering just outside of the hall.

"So good you've returned, my brother, and with the new blood still in one piece," he answered, without taking his eyes from Merrill. "Now, if you will excuse us, I have something pressing to discuss with her."

Farkas sidled into the hall, shifting his gaze between the two of them, and quietly asked, "Merrill? You will be alright?"

She slid her eyes away from Vilkas and he instantly lost patience with his twin. Turning his head, he nearly roared at Farkas.

"I said leave!"

Farkas raised both his hands in a placating gesture and turned toward the stairs. He and the girl both watched him retreat, until the hall was empty of anyone but them.

He looked back to her first and was mesmerized by the pulse of her blood pumping through her neck, considered laying his tongue over it. Then she whipped her head back around, her whole face transformed with anger.

"What the _hell_ do you want, Vilkas?"

_You_, he thought, but chose not to answer, hoping to aggravate her even more. It worked, Merrill began to struggle against his grasp, bringing her hands up to push at his chest and tossing her hair. He shook her a little, almost playfully, and reached with one hand to knock her helmet off. The armor hit the floor with an awful clatter, making her jump and frown up at him again before she wrenched her other arm away. Vilkas let her go willingly, thinking to give chase.

But she only took a few steps away, and then stood her ground, rubbing at where he had dug his fingers and looking expectant.

"Well?" she asked again.

"Where did you go with my brother?" he growled, trying to keep his voice low.

"That's none of your fucking concern!" she snapped back, tossing her head again.

"It damned well is! He is _my_ twin and you are _my _shield sister, when the two of you disappear like that I have _every_ right to know why!"

Her eyes flashed with defiance, the look shooting straight to his loins. For an instant he thought she would take a swing at him, and was almost disappointed when she didn't.

"That's too bad, Vilkas, because I'm not telling you a single fucking thing." She lowered her voice to a purr, "and that part about being a shield sister was almost funny. You have done _nothing_ for me the entire time I've been a companion except try to piss me off, and I'm fucking sick of it. Make your peace with me or stay out of my way, either way I owe you _nothing_."

If Vilkas had been in a more stable frame of mind he might have listened to her words, understood the implied offer, but at that moment he was nothing but lust and fury and envy; her refusal to cooperate only spurred him on more.

"Just tell me!" he roared.

"NO!" she shouted back and turned her back on him to leave.

He was on her in an instant, shoving her bodily up against the door with his arms caged around her and his nose buried in her hair. Vilkas growled, immediately furious at the armor they were both wearing. She was trembling and panting, making little helpless noises that made him crowd closer.

"Vilkas, please – " she whispered. _Gods_, his knees went weak with pleasure at the sound.

"I can smell him on you," he groaned, barely able to form coherent words. Her whole body stiffened in response.

"Who?"

_My brother_ was the obvious answer, but he didn't bother saying it. All he could think about was the softness of her curves pressed against him and his brother with his hands on her, _knowing_ her, every inch of her skin. His jealousy was overwhelming.

"You mean Farkas?" Merrill asked, all but mumbling to herself. "But that doesn't make sense, we didn't… And why do you even _care_, I don't – ah!"

Vilkas had sunk his teeth into her neck, not quite deep enough to draw blood, but _close_. Her reaction was immediate and unexpected. She became boneless against him, throwing her head back and gasping, and the smell of her arousal was suddenly flooding his senses. He wrapped his arms around her torso to hold her up and released his jaw to lick at the bite, then dragged her up a little higher and bit her again.

Merrill cried out, an incredibly gratifying sound, and he couldn't keep from grinding his hips against her, seeking friction. He soothed her with his tongue and then trailed his mouth over her neck, a string of almost kisses, until he found the lobe of her ear and took it into his mouth.

"Wait, Vilkas, wait I don't…" Was she talking again? All he cared about was the taste of her skin and the marks he'd left on her shoulder. He shifted a hand up to her face and forced a finger into her mouth, desperate to have any part of him inside of her. He nearly came when she began to suckle on it.

Merrill took advantage of the moment and twisted in his arms to face him, the armor scraping and snagging. Bracing her hands on his chest, she wrestled a few inches of space between their upper body, Vilkas paid her back by nudging one of his thighs between her legs.

She looked _beautiful_, her hair trailing over her shoulders and her lips and cheeks flushed and her pupils dilated. She was breathing almost as hard as him, and he could picture the way her breasts would rise with each inhale. He dipped his head to kiss her but she twisted her fingers into his hair and yanked him back; Vilkas didn't know until exactly then how much he liked pain.

"_Wait,_" she said, her breath warm on his mouth, "when did this _happen_? For how long?"

"Always," he groaned, struggling to make human sounds, "from the beginning. I've just needed – " He overpowered her grip and slammed his lips against hers, wrapping his hand around her neck to hold her still as he dipped his tongue into her mouth over and over, groaning at the heat and the sweetness of her.

He didn't understand what her hands and fingers were doing until he felt his chest plate begin to loosen around him, then he was flooded with exultation. He lifted his head to hiss a "_Yes_" to her and then covered her mouth again, quickly working to remove her armor.

As soon as he'd pulled her chest plate off, he palmed her breasts through the thin shift underneath, running his thumbs over the stiff peaks. She made some helpless noise and arched into his touch, halting her own progress with his apparel.

"Did he touch you here?" he asked, unable to keep his jealousy in check. Merrill whimpered into his mouth. He drew back from her to stare at her for a second before grasping the cloth and yanking it over her head. Her breasts were perfect, high and round with dusky tips. Dropping to his knees, Vilkas took one nipple into his mouth, suckling for a second before biting her the same way he did her neck.

She shrieked, writhing against him and fisting her hands into his hair, only she was forcing him closer instead of trying to push him away. It took him several seconds to realize she was saying something again.

"No," she panted, "no, no."

He tried to move to her other breast, but she wedged a knee up against him and yanked on his hair until he looked up at her.

"This," she pointed at his armor, "off."

Fingers flew and his chest was bare in moments; _finally_ he could press his skin against hers. Vilkas made short work of her greaves and boots, shoving her smallclothes past her knees and over her ankles before cupping her sex. She was _dripping_.

"Are you wet for me?" He growled, his question dragging another wordless sound out of her.

Still kneeling, he reached his other hand up to grip the nape of her neck and bend her head down toward his, not quite close enough to kiss her.

"Are you?" he asked again, grinding his palm between her legs. She tried to nod. "Say it, say 'I'm wet for you, Vilkas.'" He slid a couple fingers past the folds, delving and stroking until he found the spot that made her hips jerk and stomach quiver.

"_Say it_."

"I'm wet for you, V – " she whispered, "Vilkas." Any shred of control he had left vanished as he shot back to his feet and clawed at his breeches, getting them open and down just far enough. Lifting Merrill, he pulled her legs around his hips and braced her back against the door.

"Look at me," he growled, needing to see her face. She tipped her head back and he held her eyes as he pushed into her, trying to see every grimace and quirk. He was utterly shocked when he met a barrier after only a few inches. The revelation cooled his blood ever so slightly.

"Are you a…?" he tried to ask, his brows pulling together.

"Just do it," Merrill said, lifting her chin to brush her lips briefly against his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and did as she asked, using one strong thrust to tear her maidenhead and hilt himself fully inside her.

Merrill screamed with real pain this time, shaking and clawing at him, and he did his best to hold still and calm her, tracing one hand down the side of her face and kissing her over and over. When she started kissing him back he couldn't wait any longer and began moving, small and uneven at first but steadily stronger and faster as she met him with her hips. He settled his forehead against hers, with one hand wrapped around her back and the other bracing her hip, and studied her face each time he thrust.

It would be over far too soon, he knew, the culmination of weeks of wanting her and claiming her before any other man putting him almost immediately at the threshold. Vilkas bent to her neck again, sank his teeth in as he felt his climax begin to build, trying to go as deep into her as he could. Merrill arched against him, keening.

"Vilkas, gods," she cried, and it toppled him completely.

He shouted as he came, muffled against her skin, and fought to get as close to her as possible while pleasure burned through him, making him see spots. It felt decisive, like ownership, her maiden's blood mixing with his seed and the mark of his teeth on her body. Euphoria blanketed him for a few seconds and a fine tremor passed over his muscles before he lifted his head to look at Merrill.

She was frowning, looking frustrated and slightly out of her depth. He understood. Again, he pressed their brows together and carefully shifted one hand to the cleft between her legs. He brought her while he was still buried inside her, the clenching of her womb around him almost painful but still _perfect. _The noises she made were even better. The knowledge that no one else had ever felt her come around them was fucking paradise.

Vilkas waited a few moments more while her breathing returned to normal, loath to separate.

Finally, he asked, "Can you stand?"

She nodded against his shoulder and moved one shaky leg off his hips. He slid out of her and guided her feet to the ground, keeping a hold on her hips until he was sure she was stable. Quickly, he laced up his pants and shoved all their armor and clothing into a pile, leaving it on the floor. Let them see, he thought, let them know that he has had her, that she is his.

He picked her shift out of the pile and threaded it over her head and arms, gently tugged it down, and then lifted her in both arms, cradling her against his chest.

When they made it to his room he set her on the bed and crawled in behind her, and then arranged their limbs until she was completely nestled against him, languid and warm.

"You are mine, now," he whispered into her hair before falling into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

* * *

Merrill woke a couple hours later feeling sore and heavy and hot. And confused. It took her a moment to remember whose room she was in, until she glanced down at the pale arm draped over her hip and noticed the heavy breathing in her ear.

_Vilkas_. Holy shit, Vilkas, fucking Vilkas, as in Vilkas fucking _her_ against a door after nearly tearing her throat out for no damned reason, _that_ fucking Vilkas.

Her mind descended into a whirlwind of incoherence for a second as she recalled each detail of the previous night. This was not okay, she decided, once she could think again. Definitely not okay. Right? Because she hated Vilkas and he hated her and people who hated each other shouldn't be making them _come_, right?

Wrong, she guessed, since that was exactly what she and Vilkas did. Each other. As in they did each other. Gah, she couldn't wrap her head around it. Her memory and her body weren't lying though, as if the fact the he was currently glued to her backside wasn't proof enough. Fuck. The exasperated kind, not the kind that she did with Vilkas and why did she keep _thinking_ that way?

A temporary solution emerged from her addled head, struggling past memories and endless questions and general shock. _Get out._

That she could do, at least. Or she thought she could. After gently removing his arm and untangling her legs, she moved to sit up only to be dragged back against his chest again with crushing strength. Merrill jumped – or tried to, she was pinned pretty securely – and twisted her head around to see Vilkas staring accusingly at her.

_Fuck_. No, wait, the scared kind not the other kind which could totally happen again _right now_. A slow heat spread through her limbs, making her feel loose and slow, malleable. Vilkas' eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, and he tugged her a little closer, making the air leave her chest in a rush.

"Where were you going?" he asked, his voice a little deeper with sleep, "Were you trying to leave me?"

"I.." Why couldn't she think properly when he looked at her like that?

"You can't," he groused as he threw a leg over hers and twisted their bodies until he was halfway on top of her. "You belong to me now."

Already he was reaching a hand down to tug her shift out of the way, and damn if she wasn't wet from just thinking about it.

"I, wait, I don't _belong_ to anyone, what makes you think – " He chose that moment to slide his fingers between her legs, immediately finding the place that made her insane with need. Vilkas kissed her, forcing her mouth open to swallow the noises she made. Soon she was _close_, shifting and trembling with her hand wrapped around his, holding him to her, when he stopped and grabbed both of her wrists to slam them into the pillow above her head.

In an instant he was cradled between her thighs, his hips spreading her wide, and then he shoved into her, completely inside in one powerful thrust. They groaned in unison, and he waited a second for her, watching her, to let her adjust to his size. Then he was _fucking_ her again. That kind. The best kind.

He wasn't frantic like last night, but slow and methodical, each thrust nearly overpowering her. She wanted to cling to him, pierce his skin with her nails in return for piercing her, but he wouldn't allow it, keeping a firm hold on her hands. All she could do was try to meet his hips with hers and stare at him, the way his eyes and mouth winced, the way he huffed each time he pushed as far as he could go.

Gods, she was going to come, she was seriously going to die if he didn't move just a little faster. Whining, she tried to shift underneath him, digging her heels into his ass to get the message across.

"Please," she choked. He frowned and slowly bent to kiss her, and then raised his head again, still fucking her at that relentless, maddening pace.

"I know what you want," he whispered, his next thrust a little harder, making her back bow, "and I can give it to you, but you have to tell me. Tell me you're mine, that you belong to me. Tell me, or I'll fuck it out of you, I swear by the nine."

Merrill shook her head, defying him for reasons she couldn't comprehend because the _only_ thing she wanted at the moment was to come.

"No," she gasped, just speaking the word ratcheting up her need a little more. "No, I won't say it, you can go fuck yourself."

He snarled in her ear, the sound crawling down her spine and settling at the bottom, building into an incredible orgasm. She arched off the bed, throwing her head back and exposing her neck to Vilkas in hopes that he would bite her again.

"Say it!" he yelled, but he was already losing control, moving faster, making her moan into his ear.

"Vilkas, please!" she cried at some point, lost in all of it, not entirely sure what she was asking for. He snarled again and latched his mouth onto her neck before hilting into her one last time, not moving except to grind against her. It was just enough, _exactly_ what she needed, and she climaxed, convulsing and mewling.

He collapsed onto her for a small time, and she found she didn't mind until she started losing her vision from lack of oxygen. Luckily, he interpreted her wriggling correctly and shifted away. Torpor weighed her limbs down, and when Vilkas scooted close to her again, saying something she didn't really bother trying to catch, Merrill didn't fight. She simply sank into sleep again.

* * *

It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative gloom of Jorrvaskr after coming from Skyrim's bright midday sun. Merrill didn't realize someone was approaching her until they stood barely a half foot away. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief when old Tilma's face materialized.

Merrill had sort of been avoiding Whiterun and its resident Companions like the plague. Cowardly, she knew, but then again she felt she had plenty of reasons to be terrified. _Vilkas _for one, and... well that was it. But he was more than enough. When she had woken to an empty bed after their second, uh, tryst, she'd taken his absence for the gift that it was, rounded up her armor, and fled.

She'd chased wild geese for Farengar instead, which involved musty cairns and even mustier monsters that had the generosity to promptly turn to dust whenever she chopped at them. A boring looking stone and some ehxuastion-induced chanting in her ears were her boon, and since neither filled her stomach she had been forced to return much sooner than she liked. Hunger trumped humiliation, it couldn't be helped.

There was only one obstacle between Merrill and food, and Tilma was currently frowning down at her (Merrill was short, even for a Bosmer) with both wrinkled fists digging into her hips.

"Uh... could I just-" Merrill waved toward the bountiful table just a few feet away and tried to shuffle around the woman. Lightning fast, Tilma planted one sharp finger in the middle of Merrill's armor, freezing the elf to the spot, and narrowed her eyes even more.

"I've been tending to the warriors of Jorrvaskr for as along as I can remember," the normally benign comment was now spoken almost threateningly, "I see everything, hear everything, _know_ everything."

Definitely a threat, Merrill decided, as her face started burning furiously. She'd never figured Tilma the Haggard for a blackmailer.

Farkas chose that precise moment (she would later speculate on whether he had somehow _planned_ the whole thing) to stroll by and offer his opinion.

"Honestly, Tilma, we all know you get your jollies from watching. You don't have to brag about it."

Empty stomach forgotten, it would be _months _before Merrill stuck her head back into that cursed mead hall again.

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A/N: Couldn't help throwing in that last bit, because there have to be some repercussions for smutting so_ publicly, _and Tilma does seem like the lurking type.


End file.
